Ready
by Zrfm
Summary: Amy/11 Drabble.


She kisses him softly, her lips pressed against his with such tenderness he's almost sure she's not touching him. Only the warmth of her skin against him convinces the Doctor that this is real. Yes, he is laying on the floor of the TARDIS with a wrench in one hand and a handfull on hair in the other.

Amy's hands are on either side of his face, holding her up as she straddles his hips, her face so very close to his. She smells of lemon and orange, tangy and exotic and delicious. Her lips taste of cherry and when she runs her tounge along the seam of his mouth he finds it tastes of peppermint. The wrench falls limp from his hand, hitting the floor with a resounding clank. He ignores it, as does she, both too entoxicated by the smell and touch and taste of the other.

She pulls away first, needing air and when she does she leaves him dazed, lips slightly parted, eyes half lidded and cheeks flushed. ''Amy?'' He says, not meaning for it to be a question. She doesn't move, only hovers over him inticingly, hair falling in curtains around them.

''Yes?'' She asks huskily. He twists his handfull of hair gently, pulling her ever so slightly closer. He can feel her breath on his lips, he leans up and brushed his tounge faintly over her mouth, drawing away the last of the lipgloss and making her groan. So she liked it when he used tounge?

The Doctor can't think, his brain feels addled and clouded, filled with red hair and creamy, citrus skin. Slowly, ever so, so slowly Amy lowers herself to lie flush across him, melting her body to fit every last conture of his. She can feel his erection pressed against her belly, hot and damp and begging to be touched. She obliges, slidding her hand down his chest and palming him through his trouseres. His moan is strangled and surprised, muffled only by her soft kiss. It's been a while since he's been loved and even longer since he been made love to.

She strokes him wonderfully, palming and teasing until he gasps for her to remove his trousers. When she has him pantsless beneath her with his large erection taught against his stomach she smiles, sliding her hips against him. The rough material of her shorts makes him cry out in pleasure and pain, he needs so much more needs her heat and her skin and her love.

''Kiss me, Amy...'' He whisperes, pulling her towards him, stroking her bottom lip with his tounge. Calmly she kisses him, carressing him and nuzzling and whispering. His fingers clutch her tightly, seeking reassurance that this was alright. He was a 900 year old alien and she was just twenty years old, barely a child, he was basically comminting statutory rape. So why do her warm lips against his feel so very right?

He flipps them, turning his mouth to kiss a trail down her chin. She moans when he reaches her neck, sucking hard, nipping and licking untill she's whithering, trying to rid him of his shirt and herself of hers.

It's awkward with a little bit of nervous laughter to strip eachother but when they do and he's laying atop her with his lips inches from hers and his chest flush against her breasts they look into eachother's eyes. ''Are you sure, Amy?'' He asks, bumping his nose against hers as his length bobbs against her thigh.

''Yes,'' she replies with out hesitation. ''Are you?''

He considers the beautifull, naked woman beneath him, taking in every inch of her alabaster skin and cataloauging every tiny freckle and scar. She's truely magnificint, perfect, brilliant. ''Yes.'' He says finally, kissing her chastly on the lips and pushing into her.

Amy's good at fucking, she's done it with a few men before, none of who gave her what she gave them. The only orgasm she had achievied was from a frustrated hand after Rory had finished and fallen asleep. This isn't fucking though, he's not taking her body for his own satisfaction, he's making love to her, kissing every inch of skin he can, gasping alien phrases in her ear and when she's about to cum he whisperes three words that make her gasp and then scream.

He's still going when she's finished and he makes her feel every tiny after shock that wracks her body so that her orgasm seems to last a lifetime. When he finally fills her he does so quietly, rolling sideways and pulling her with him wrapped and tangled and sweaty and so very very close. He's still inside her, limp and sated. She smiles sleepily and kisses his nose.

Soon she drifts off and the Doctor notices TARDIS floor imprints on her arse. He chuckles and takes her in his arms, carrying her to the first bedroom he happens apon, his as it were. ''Thanks darling.'' He whispers to his ship, laying Amy down in his bed and pulling the covers over her. He stays up for a while, gathering their clothes and putting them in the wash, leaving the panties Amy was wearing out. He slipps them into the pocket of the trousers that are the only thing he's wearing. Amy will be gone too soon, be it days or months or years. Too soon. He needs something to hold on to, he needs her and when she's gone he'll have nothing but her scent on his sheets and a pair of soiled underwear.

''Make the most of the time you do have.'' The TARDIS voices tellepathically to him. He closes his eyes and nodds. Yes. Even if this is the last night he gets to spend with her it's not a night for mourning, it's a night for showing how much he cares.

He pulls her close when he reaches the bed, curving his body to her in a way so natral it can't possibly the first. He kisses her forehead and then her lips. ''Sleep well, my little Amelia Pond.'' He whispers. And she does, held securly in his arms, warm and sated and happy. 


End file.
